With a Little T.L.C.

by Teresa Southwick

  Anger at her father welled up in her. She despised the man for making her into a shoot-first-ask-questions-later kind of woman. Even worse, a nice guy like Joe had paid the price for the suspicious skeptic her own father had created. She’d given Joe the third degree at every turn. His sister had just debunked another of her doubts and Liz felt lower than the lowest single-cell life form. It was a wonder that he hadn’t thrown up his hands and refused to bother with her.

  “Liz, I think his volunteer work has something to do with you.” Rosie’s eyes gleamed as she nodded knowingly.

  “Me?” While the words warmed her clear to the icy wall she kept around her heart, Liz was afraid, too. Joe was standing in front of that icy wall. Threatening to melt it down with hot looks and hotter kisses. But she was determined not to let him any closer. He was a great guy, but he could still break her heart. She wouldn’t be like her mother and let that happen.

  “Yeah,” Rosie agreed. “You got his attention the last time I had a baby.” She looked down at the peacefully sleeping infant in her arms. “Now here I am again and I’ve discovered that my big brother has a secret life that involves you.”

  “Secret life?” Liz shook her head. “I wouldn’t call us involved.”

  “Do me a favor. Hurry up and decide what to call you and Joe. Don’t make me have another baby to define your relationship.”

  In spite of her misgivings, Liz couldn’t help laughing. Rosie Schafer was easy to like. A quality she shared with her brother Joe, and the rest of the Marchettis for that matter.

  “Rosie, trust me. There’s nothing to decide or to define. Joe and I will never be anything more than friends.”

  “Have you ever noticed that when someone protests too much, they always say ‘trust me.’ No one knows Joe’s flaws better than I do, but in spite of them, he’s a great guy.”

  Liz was struggling with that fact. There was no reason that Rosie would lie about his insomnia and her ignorance of his volunteer commitment. That meant one thing.

  Joe Marchetti was as wonderful as he seemed.

  Yikes. That would put a serious crimp in her ability to keep him at arm’s length. Unless she could find a serious defect to sink her teeth into, Liz had to face the fact that she was up to her ears in trouble.

  She had always believed trust was the cornerstone of a relationship, the raw material necessary to work up to liking someone. She’d found out the hard way that she could trust Joe and what she felt was a lot more than like.

  But love? Not now, not ever. No way, no how. Trust me? she thought. It was out of the question.

  Chapter Eight

  “Once upon a time, there was a girl named Cinderella.”

  Joe heard the familiar female voice and peeked through the doorway separating the newborn nursery from the room where employees and volunteers scrubbed and gowned in preparation for handling the infants. He’d just left his sister. She was going home in the morning. Tonight she and her husband were having a quiet dinner in her room.

  Liz sat in the rocking chair holding a bundled up baby. A girl. The pink receiving blanket and matching knit hat were a color-coded clue. She wasn’t wearing her no-nonsense nurse face. There was an expression that he’d never seen before. A glow of caring, concern, compassion—he wasn’t sure how to describe it. He only knew Liz had never worn that particular look in his presence before. He’d thought of her as cute from the moment they’d met. But at this moment, she looked beautiful.

  Probably because her guard was down. He knew now that it wasn’t personal. Like all kids, she was a product of her environment. Her father, the man she would judge every other man against, had taught her guys couldn’t be trusted.

  But the vulnerable look on her face now made him want to take her in his arms and never let anyone or anything hurt her ever again. The feeling was so powerful, it rocked him clear through. He’d never felt this way about a woman before.

  It was at that moment that he set himself a new mission—to teach her that not all guys deserved to be drop-kicked through the goalposts of life. Some of them were average, everyday joes who put one foot in front of the other in their daily struggle to do the right thing. And he was one of them.

  He watched Liz, in profile, glance lovingly down at the infant in her arms. “Cinderella had a hard day, but most days were hard what with a wicked stepmother and two demanding stepsisters whining and complaining. But it got better for Cinderella. Life isn’t a fairy tale, but I think you’ll like it. Tomorrow will be better.”

  Joe held his lab coat and stood very still, afraid any movement would alert her to his presence and spoil the spell she was weaving. He stood in the doorway listening as Liz spoke softly and spun the age-old fairy tale right up to the part where the prince slipped the glass slipper on his ladylove’s dainty foot and they lived happily ever after.

  “So what do you think, little one?” Liz asked, smiling down. Squeaking and squirming from the baby in her arms was the only response. But Liz wasn’t a bit put off.

  “That’s where you’re wrong, munchkin. Things worked out great for Cindy. She got her shoe back, she got to call the shots in the kingdom. She got the whole nine yards, the big enchilada, her dream. Plus, she got her fella. It didn’t work that way for me. But you,” she smiled fondly at the baby. “Your life is a blank slate. You can be anything you want, do anything you want. Go for the gusto.”

  Joe couldn’t help wondering why she was so sure her own dreams couldn’t come true. What was standing in her way? In his line of work, he had learned to size people up quickly. He didn’t peg her for a quitter. Unless he missed his guess, she would make a class-A mother. He had a feeling she’d make a hell of a wife to a guy smart enough to appreciate her and cherish her. She would be a partner in every way, in the best sense of the word. But she didn’t believe she could have it all.

  If he hadn’t seen so many relationships turn sour, he might be tempted to try and change her mind. But he couldn’t get past the ugliness he’d seen after relationship meltdown. He would bet the farm that if you looked in on Cinderella and Prince Charming ten years and a couple of princes and princesses later, things wouldn’t be so swell for Mr. and Mrs. Charming. No doubt Mrs. Charming was trying to stick it to him in a financial settlement, and using the kids as a weapon in her quest to take him to the castle cleaners.

  Nope, he didn’t plan to relinquish his bachelor status. What bothered him, though, was that Liz was the first woman for a very long time who had made him even think “what if.” Was it because she wasn’t pursuing him the way a lot of women did? Or because she’d made it clear that she couldn’t care less? Or that he had to work so hard just to convince her he was really a nice guy? Whatever, she had definitely gotten his attention. No woman in longer than he could remember had made him sit up and take notice the way Liz had.

  She glanced over and spotted him in the doorway. A sheepish expression crossed her face. “I didn’t know you were there.”

  “No way did I want to interrupt story hour. Since when are you on cuddler detail?”

  “Whenever I can find the time, I like to come in here. It’s the only place I know where you can steal a moment of absolute perfection by just holding a small, warm body close.”

  “I know exactly what you mean,” he said softly.

  Her big hazel eyes grew just a little bigger and turned a shade greener at his words. Their gazes locked for several powerful moments. Her expression told him she believed he understood those words spoken straight from her heart. It was a flash of crystal clarity, a profound moment when they were on the same wavelength. It was a tiny window of opportunity where he knew if they opened it, there could be something special between them.

  Her cheeks turned pink and she looked away, breaking the spell. The window slammed and locked, the curtains closed tight. He wasn’t sure if he felt relief or regret. But he figured it was just as well. If she hadn’t backed off, he would have. It suddenly occurred to him that one of the things he liked b
est about her was the fact that she wasn’t looking for a relationship any more than he was. He could relax around her, let his guard down. He liked that. A lot.

  “What’s with the fairy tale?” he asked.

  “I don’t know. I guess it’s silly,” she said, sighing. “Maybe just a short retreat from reality. This little girl had a hard day. One minute she was warm, happy, and doing the backstroke inside mom. The next, some big baboon dressed in green from head to toe pushed her out. Then they took her away and started suctioning her. It’s a rude entry into the world.”

  “Seems cruel,” he agreed.

  “She keeps looking at me with those big, trusting eyes and she’ll get this pensive look on her face that seems to say, ‘What are you planning to do to me next?”’

  “Don’t look now Nurse Ratchett, but your gooey marshmallow center is showing.”

  “A bald-faced lie. My center is hard as stone. There is no weakness, no Achilles’ heel. If an ugly rumor to the contrary gets out, I’ll deny it,” she said. “And speaking of softies, I don’t remember seeing your name on the volunteer schedule. What are you doing here?”

  That was another thing he liked about her. She could give as good as she got. She was smart and sassy. Kept a man on his toes. Interesting, funny, caring, cute. Enough for a lifetime.

  Don’t go there, Marchetti, he warned.

  He shrugged. “I was here anyway for Rosie and the baby. But visiting hours are over. A certain nurse who shall remain nameless showed me the error of my ways and I’ll have you know I vacated my sister’s room at the appropriate time without fanfare or force.”

  She laughed. “Who’d have guessed you were trainable?”

  “It’s my best quality.”

  “Do you have any bad qualities?” she blurted out. “Any flaws?”

  Joe studied the earnest look on her face and swore she was dead serious. “You of all people should know the answer to that,” he said. “Since we met, you’ve been ticking off my downside at every opportunity.”

  “Yeah, and getting proven wrong on a regular basis. Why didn’t you ever mention that you’re an insomniac?”

  Uh-oh. Someone in the family had a big mouth. “Where did you hear that vicious rumor?”

  “Your sister told me. She said you’ve been prone to sleeping problems all your life. How come you didn’t see fit to mention it?”

  “First of all Rosie’s always been overly dramatic. It’s not that big a deal. Secondly, it’s not something a guy usually brings up when he’s trying to impress a girl.”

  The becoming color that suffused her cheeks was the only sign that she’d registered his remark about trying to impress her. And he realized it was true, he had been trying to do just that. He got the feeling that he was nearing the end of his probation with her. That was a good thing, but at the same time it made him uneasy. And he wasn’t sure why.

  She continued rocking the baby as she looked up at him. “Insomnia explains a lot that you didn’t see fit to spell out. Like why you’ve been known to be here in the middle of the night. And why you fell asleep on my couch.”

  Actually insomnia didn’t explain that last part at all. He couldn’t fall asleep on his own state-of-the-art mattress in his very restful condo. So why on her couch? Or was it about her? He couldn’t ignore the fact that he liked her—a lot. This nurturing woman who used fairy tales to soothe away the stresses and upsets of a newborn’s first hours. This woman could be dangerous to his bachelor status if he let her. But he didn’t plan to let her. It was a lucky coincidence that neither of them wanted anything permanent.

  “I plead the fifth on falling asleep on your couch. It’s just one of those inexplainable phenomenons, like the way an infant no bigger than my forearm can command the attention of twenty adults in a room.”

  “If you say so.”

  “I say so,” he agreed.

  “So tell me more about your flaws.” Just then her beeper went off. She stood and put the now sleeping infant back in the isolette. “I’m being paged,” she said.

  “When do you get off work?” he asked.

  She looked at her watch. “About an hour.”

  He nodded. “Why don’t you let me feed you a late supper? I have an in with the best Italian restaurant in town.”

  “I’m not sure that’s—”

  He held up a finger. “Do you want a detailed list of my flaws or not?”

  She grinned. “You sure know how to sweet-talk a girl.”

  “It’s a management style. Marchetti’s my name, Human Resources is my game.”

  “I’ll wait for you by the time clock,” she said.

  “If you don’t take shorthand, a tape recorder works pretty well to get it all down. And trust me, there will be a lot to get down. I have a very impressive portfolio of flaws. Big ones, little ones, medium-sized ones. I’m a veritable potpourri of flaws.”

  She shook her head, but she was laughing. “I’ll remember that.”

  “Are you sure you don’t mind going to my place?” Joe asked again. “I thought you might like to put your feet up. They frown on that sort of thing in restaurants.”

  “I don’t mind. I’m really looking forward to seeing playboy central with my very own eyes.”

  Liz wasn’t afraid he would try anything. She’d gotten past that. Besides, she really and truly needed to find some imperfection to help her keep him in perspective. Where better than his bachelor pad? She glanced at him, behind the wheel of his sports car. They’d left hers at the hospital and he’d promised to take her back for it later.

  He looked at her quickly, read the teasing in her eyes, and grinned back. “It’s just an ordinary condo. I hope you’re not disappointed.”

  “Me, too.” But she was talking about something to keep him at a distance. She sniffed the wonderful odors from the mysterious bag he’d picked up at Marchetti’s. “But if the food tastes as good as it smells, I don’t think there’s a lot you can do that would disappoint me.”

  “Who’d have guessed that the way to mellow you was with the valley’s best pasta, a good marinara sauce and some garlic bread?”

  “Let’s keep that our little secret.”

  He made a left turn and drove up into the hills above the San Fernando Valley. Finally he pulled into the driveway of a condominium complex and parked.

  “Here we are,” he said, turning off the engine.

  “Lead the way. I’m starving.”

  Joe got out and went around to the passenger door, opened it and held out his hand to help her from the car. Liz placed her fingers in his warm palm and held her breath when a sizzle of awareness zinged through her at the contact. It had been a long time since a man’s touch had affected her so strongly. She hoped her willpower was in tip-top shape. Otherwise it was a big mistake to be here with him. But she reminded herself that her assignment was to find the imperfection in this guy. The dealbreaker. Something that would convince her Joe Marchetti was not as wonderful as she feared he actually was.

  Liz followed him to his condo and waited while he unlocked the door. He flipped a switch in the entry and the living room blazed with light. Beige carpet stretched in front of her to the dining area with its glass table and floor-to-ceiling windows that showcased a fabulous view of the lights in the valley below. Lots of chrome and leather furniture decorated the room. So he was a glass, chrome and leather kind of guy, she thought. He must have thought her cutesy, country decor was gauche.

  She looked at his questioning expression. “So far I have no comment except that your taste in furnishings leans toward the impersonal masculine kind.”

  “Good. I think,” he added with a puzzled look. He had a bag of food in one hand and grabbed her fingers in the other. “Come with me. Penne pasta, salad, garlic bread à la Joe, and a sprinkling of flaws are featured on tonight’s menu.”

  He pulled her into the kitchen, family room combination. Now here was something to sink her teeth into. The stainless steel sink overflowed with dish
es sporting everything from dried egg to bowls with leftover cereal that only strategically placed dynamite could remove. Newspapers dotted the countertop, sofa, and table. Sweatpants, jeans and shirts were strewn about the room. A silk tie lay haphazardly over a lampshade.

  “Paydirt,” she said, nodding with approval. “This is good. Who’d have guessed you’re a slob?” she asked brightly.

  He set the bag of food on the beige ceramic tile countertop and pulled two plates from the oak cupboard. “I can’t help feeling that you just paid me a backhanded compliment.”

  “How’s that?”

  “It’s not so much that I’m a slob, but that I can hide it so well that no one would know.”

  She laughed as she riffled through the bag and found the salad, then put it on the table. Looking at a drawer close by, she opened it and found a serving spoon and fork. “That’s called compensating for your shortcomings.”

  “Isn’t that what functioning as an adult is all about?”

  “Yes.”

  “Good. Because I found an affordable cleaning service that will put up with me.”

  “So you have a maid.”

  “Is that a bad thing?”

  She thought for a moment. “No. I could make something of the fact that you don’t clean up after yourself. But the fact that you care enough to schedule cleanings for your environment mitigates that defect.”

  He poured each of them a glass of red wine and put it on the table. Then he brought over two plates filled with pasta. “Dinner is served.”

  Liz sat down while he opened the refrigerator and pulled out a container. “What are you doing?”

  He glanced at her. “Gotta have fresh grated Parmesan.”

  As he sprinkled some on her food, she inhaled the delicious smells. “Your culinary accomplishments are definitely not a blemish on your record.”

  “That’s a relief,” he said.

  Finally he sat down at a right angle to her, lifted his glass and said, “I propose a toast.”